


That time when Peter Parker tried to sell weed...

by ItStartedWithPotter



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - No Powers, BAMF Tony Stark, Drug Dealing, Gen, Mafia! Tony Stark, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, Peter Parker Angst, Sorry Not Sorry, This fic is so random, Threats of Violence, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, author writes when muse strikes, maybe will turn into a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItStartedWithPotter/pseuds/ItStartedWithPotter
Summary: Basically Tony Stark is in the mafia and Peter tried (and fails) to sell drugs and gets caught by Tony's men. Poor Peter.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	That time when Peter Parker tried to sell weed...

The principal sat facing the pair with a stern expression on his face. The woman opposite him was staring at her nephew as if seeing him for the first time. Time slowed to a point as Peter watched his aunt’s face go from confusion, disbelief to shock and finally, and as time resumed – anger.  
“What in God’s holy name were you thinking!” she hissed at Peter. His aunt reached out one arm as if to shake him, thought better of it and banged it heavily on the desk. When neither Peter nor the Principal spoke, May turned her head sharply to the Principal.  
“Are you absolutely sure it was him?”  
“Certain, ma’am,’  
“He could have been framed-“  
“He was caught exchanging the uh, well, he was seen you know…” at this, the principal was clearly struggling, not really sure how to put it delicately for May. Instead Peter finally spoke up.  
“I sold the weed for money, Aunt May.”  
It took Peter saying weed for time to fast-forward. Suddenly Aunt May was screaming at him. Talking of disappointment and then switching to murmuring ‘but it’s just weed, its not like he dealt cocaine!’ To which, obviously, Peter’s old-schooled and very middle-class principal acted as if she had said a particularly nasty slur and announced Peter as temporarily suspended from school. 

In hindsight, being suspended wouldn’t have been so bad if Peter hadn’t gone and called the Principal a fucking asshole. In fairness, Peter didn’t know he’d spoken out loud and as he would insist even now, the Principal had it out for him because, well, everyone disliked the weirdo nerd, Peter Parker, didn’t they? 

Well anyway, the point was, Peter Parker was now expelled and Aunt May, refusing to talk to him, was as helpful as MJ was tearful. 

“Where did you get them from anyway,” she asked him over the phone. Peter was swinging his legs to and fro on the breakfast stool but stopped when a new thought occurred to him.  
‘Oh Shit MJ, I’ll call you back!” He cut the call and shakily stared at his phone. When he’d picked up the job – or rather when the job had picked him – it had seen pretty straightforward. Two men had spotted him wandering the town fair and had struck up a conversation. At the time, the promise of a regular income, especially one that could help support his aunt in exchange for delivering packages here and there had seemed easy. This wasn’t his first rodeo either. Peter was young but he wasn’t stupid and he knew how to blend in. 

“Kid,” the stockier of the two men had said. “The only rule is don’t fail.”  
Peter half listened and had picked up his fifth delivery – or rather the fifth delivery had picked Peter – and well, it was selling weed to high school teenagers, how difficult could it be? After all, he’d delivered to lawyers, doctors, politicians and heck probably the mafia. 

But he had failed. The Iron Man for whom he worked wasn’t known to be forgiving. Peter had never actually met the man but the myths around him were as sordid as they were scary. He really and genuinely didn’t want to meet the notorious man who led the Underground drug cartel. And as he broke the only rule he had, he knew he was fucked. Well and truly. But he wasn’t the smartest kid in school for nothing. He had a plan. Peter guiltily wrote a note to his Aunt and left it on the breakfast table. He even cleared up his dishes – knowing that May was going to be furious with him and if he lived to see her again then at least he hadn’t left her with his unwashed plates! He packed a few personal belongings, a picture of his parents and as he was about to leave the house he remembered that he hadn’t taken his most treasured garment – his suit. It was blue and red and covered him from head to toe. He had made it as it was the only thing that allowed him to work on techy things without having to worry about his clothes getting messy or greasy. He looked at it fondly, then gritted his teeth and made a move. He wasn’t sure where he was going but if he crossed state lines then the Iron Man and his men couldn’t catch him, could they? 

Too bad Peter wasn’t thinking because if he had then the first thing he would have done was get rid of his phone. As it happened, someone had been following Peter ever since his drug bust happened. This someone made herself apparent as soon as Peter reached the station. 

“Going somewhere,” a soft feminine voice asked. Peter turned to answer when he was suddenly crowded by three people, uncaringly pushed and swiftly removed from the station – without anyone even noticing – and shoved into a car.  
“Muffled by men bigger than him moving him about he managed to spit out, ‘How did you know where I was?”  
Someone snorted and the feminine voice answered, ‘Phone tracker, darling.”  
Now, Peter wasn’t known to cry but here he was, hooded, in the back of a car, his whole body was held by two pairs of really large hands and he had been stupid enough to take his phone with him. Very slowly and to his horror, tears started falling. 

“Aw man he’s getting my legs wet”  
Peter recognised that voice – it was the same one that had warned him about the Iron Man. These were his people. And as that realisation dawned on him he started to struggle. This didn’t do anything for him if anything the feminine voice gripped his right arm and he screeched.  
“Cut it out, boy. We are not going to harm you unless you don’t stop struggling. And believe you me, we’re all missing the action and wouldn’t mind roughing you up a little.”  
Peter struggled harder than ever, knowing a threat, when he heard one. The adrenaline in his body reacted viciously when a second brute of a man groaned in annoyance and meanly pulled his arms behind him. He thrashed and screamed as his arms were tied with rope.  
“We didn’t want it to get to this point,” the feminine voice said.  
Logically, Peter knew that struggling would only tire him out but his body was basic and responded to threat the only way it knew how – by attempting to fight his kidnappers off.  
It resulted in Peter being punched in the face. Hard. Or was it an elbow? He couldn’t see because of the hood but he could taste the blood on his lips. His hands were tied behind his back and by the time the car seemed to be slowing, everything had started to hurt. He just wanted the last week to have never happened. 

It was dark by the time Peter’s hood was removed. And he was inside somewhere. No idea where, was he still in New York? He blinked and could vaguely make out a door and a window through which a small amount of evening light shone through.  
His hands were still tied, he realised, but his feet were not. And though everything had dulled to a softer pain, he slowly tested his legs – which miraculously weren’t bound. He gingery moved into a sitting position and attempted to stand up – but, nope, that wasn’t happening. He tried a few more times but having no strength, not really having eaten or had anything to drink and being manhandled had taken its toll. Defeated, Peter closed his eyes and felt once more wet trails go down his face. 

“Are you cold?” a gentle voice spoke. Peter’s eyes snapped open and he took a sharp, startled breath as he saw the shadow of a tall man dressed in a suit.  
The voice and the man came closer and Peter could do nothing as the man crouched down to his level. The man, clearly older than him, stared at him unblinkingly. Peter started to shake and attempted to scramble back but before he could the man’s arm reached out, unhurriedly and caught his chin in his hand. 

“I asked you a question, didn’t I,” the gentle voice asked, one eyebrow arched and the eyes pinning Peter with a penetrating look. Peter watched the expression morph and he cringed as the man sighed and tightened his hand. “You’re testing my patience boy and you’ve already failed me, do you want to push your luck?” 

And perhaps Peter was waiting for some sign or some confirmation and that’s what he’d been holding out for but this confirmed it. He was staring in the face of the man himself. Iron man had his chin in his hand. The same hand that had killed, maimed and hurt so many. His own parents included! A dam broke and Peter started sobbing.  
“Please,” he said pitifully. “Let me go, please!”  
But the man did nothing. He watched the boy in front of him, covered in his own blood, small little thing, begging. Peter knew that he hadn’t succeeded when Iron Man’s lips twitched with amusement.  
“You do beg well.” And the hand was back on his chin and with the other, he smacked Peter whose whole left sided erupted in hot blistering pain.  
Iron Man gave him a second to get his breathing under control and then repeated his question.  
“Are you cold?” his lips broke into an actual smile as Peter sobbed and stared at him in disbelief or perhaps bewilderment. But when he saw the man’s arm raised to hit him again he began speaking.  
“N-no, not cold but please really I just want to go. I- I won’t even tell Aunt May you t-“ he howled in pain as he was slapped again on the same cheek. And this time as there was no hand holding him steady, he banged his head against the wall. A stray thought – sharp as lightening – entered his mind. You’re going to die here, Peter. You’re in a cellar and this man is going to slap you until you die…”

“Back with me,” the man asked, unnervingly returning to being gentle as he trailed one index finger down Peter’s cheek. “Now, Let’s start afresh.”  
Peter was trembling and it worsened as Iron Man joined Peter on the floor and sat down – cross legged. If Peter had been watching this on film he would have laughed. What kind of Mafia boss sits down on the ground? 

“When I ask you a question, you reply immediately. You don’t say anything more and you definitely don’t speak out of turn.” Peter stared at the man, between sniffles and he watched warily as Iron Man’s hand once more caught his chin. Iron Man brought his own head closer to Peter’s. For one wild second, Peter thought that he was going to kiss him. And that thought didn’t repulse him as much as he thought it ought to. But Iron Man leaned in and spoke silkily into Peter’s ear. “Do you understand me, sweet heart?” Peter moaned brokenly for a second and as a soft laugh tickled his ear he remembered the rule of answering. “I understand,” he mumbled in a somewhat terrified voice.  
Peter didn’t know what was happening but Iron Man stayed like than for a moment longer. In fact, the man was so close to him that Peter could smell the man’s essence. A bit of metal, a bit of sweat and something that he couldn’t put his finger on. 

And then in a flash, Iron Man was up and at the door. His entire demeanour had changed. Gone was the gentle voice, the playful smile. He looked every bit the terrifying mafia boss, legends said he was. Peter was so shocked by the sudden loss of touch and the voice in his ears that he squeaked and nearly jumped at the lethal way the man was now looking at him. 

“I’ll be back, Peter Parker. You’re now my property and thus will learn to live with the consequences of failing me.” 

Peter was so startled by this. Startled and somewhat angry. He had been expelled, shouted at, kidnapped and now was property. “You won’t get away with this, you know. My aunt will start looking,” he fumed in what he hoped was a confident voice.  
When the man turned, he was smiling with all teeth. And looking at Peter like he was the shark and Peter his prey. “Oh but I will, boy. I’m Tony Stark. And what I want, I get.” 

Peter was left in darkness again. And a cold, horrible sense of despair had set in. Tony Stark. Tony fucking Stark of Stark Industries. They owned practically all of New York. And had ties with the Mafia. With a jolt, Peter realised something rather unpleasant. Tony Stark, the multi-billionaire owner of Stark industries didn’t just have ties with the Mafia. He was the mafia. 

He was really, really fucked. Well and truly.

**Author's Note:**

> I Fell into the MCU fandom, haven't even seen any of the movies but fell in love with Tony Stark being a BAMF. Muse made me do this. Also there needs to be more mafia! Tony Stark fics.  
> I don't think I'll be updating this but who knows what the muse does!


End file.
